


Find Peace There

by Vampiric_Charms



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-10-31 20:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10906998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: A small collection of somewhat related stories.Chapter one:  One step forward, two steps back.  Or three steps...or seven.  (In other words:  There is bonding over opera, Victor is a goofball, and Yuuri can’t believe any of this is real because how,how, could it possibly be?)Chapter two:  Victor's heart pounded as the music suffused him, silenced him, gave him life until the ice found him again





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Naamah_Beherit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naamah_Beherit/gifts).



> Just a small dip of my toes into this lovely fandom. Also, I’m gifting this story to Naamah, since she’s the one who ~~forced me to watch~~ ever so gently prodded that I watch this show at all. 
> 
> The story itself is set early in the show, and so early in their growing relationship. Yuuri is so sweetly oblivious. Victor is...himself.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was late when Yuuri climbed the stairs from the baths and made his sleepy, stumbling way to his room.  He blinked tiredly, eyes on his feet as he pushed his glasses up his nose and ran an already damp towel through his hair to catch the water that had started to drip down the side of his face.  He was halfway down the darkened hallway when he realized the soft light grazing the floor and casting shadows across his socks was not coming from his own room but from Victor’s, his door slid mostly open for Makkachin.

Yuuri paused in the dimness granted by the hall and peered cautiously inside, unable to stop himself the indulgence for just a second.  Victor was surely asleep, given the late hour - he was always up so much earlier than Yuuri, after all - and...perhaps he should turn off the light?  But no, Victor was awake, sitting up with fluffed pillows and blankets, resting against the headboard as he read a book with his headphones in.  Makkachin was curled beside him, snoring softly.  

He hadn’t noticed Yuuri at all, standing off to the side in the doorway as he was, and Yuuri felt something in his chest tighten as he watched, frozen and silent.  Victor turned a page in his book, his eyes moving quickly over the new one, and he looked so real, so _there_ , that it almost hurt.  It had only been a few weeks and still Yuuri was having a hard time believing any of this was real.

It _couldn’t_ be, truly.  How could it?

Suddenly Victor set the book in his lap and picked up an iPod, hidden in the blankets by his hip, and unlocked it to adjust something.  Once he was satisfied, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, listening with the faintest smile tugging the corner of his mouth.  Still Yuuri was unnoticed in the darkness of the hallway.  He wanted to know, with a startling intensity at how quickly the idea came, what he was listening to, what music he enjoyed (the odd interviews years past aside; did those even count?).

Yuuri should go now, he knew he should.  This was beyond creepy, wasn’t it?  Staring like this?  He sent the decision to his feet, telling them to leave and keep moving past the door, keep moving down the hall and on to his own room.

But somehow, instead, he found himself drawn to that sweet smile, almost there and almost not, and rather than leave his feet brought him right to the door.

Makkachin noticed, then, and sat up with a wiggling excitement from his sleep.  Victor opened his eyes, and the little smile turned huge with his surprise.  “Yuuri!” he cried in that way he had, making Yuuri’s tight chest even tighter.  He clutched the towel against his sternum and bit his lip, not sure what to say.  Victor didn’t seem to mind, his grin as wide as it ever was as he pulled the earbuds out and paused his music.  “Did you just come from a bath?” he asked.

Yuuri nodded, still standing awkwardly by the door.  “I saw you were still awake,” he said after a moment, feeling so stupid.  “I...guess I wanted to make sure I didn’t need to turn the light out.”

“Ah, no.  I had a bit of trouble falling asleep,” Victor said, and for some reason this felt like an admission Yuuri was being made privy to that few others were let in on.  He held up his book, which looked much more tattered and travel-worn than it had first appeared.  The title and cover were in cyrillic Yuuri could not read, but it was obviously very loved.  “My usual trick for such occasions:  a spot of reading and music.  It hasn’t worked yet tonight, but it will.  Just need a little more time, yes?”

Yuuri nodded, humming his agreement.  “What, um, what were you listening to?”

The question came before Yuuri had a chance to second-guess himself in asking and already his heart fluttered with the nerve of simply letting it out at all, but Victor’s face lit up and he gestured for Yuuri to come closer.  He did, taking the few steps to the bedside, and Victor reached up to put one of the earbuds right into Yuuri’s ear without a word.  He must have hit play already, because immediately the strong strains of a woman’s voice came through and hit him like something he hadn’t expected at all.

 _Opera_.  Of all things, he supposed he should have anticipated it.

She was at the heights of an aria, strings holding her voice aloft and fading away in bursts as she pulled the lines through and brought the piece to a powerful close.

Yuuri realized he was staring at the bedsheets and glanced up to find Victor watching him, the other earphone in his own ear and a big smile on his face again as a different aria began.

“Amazing, isn’t she?  My favorite, but do not tell Chris that.”  Yuuri must have been staring with the most vacant expression - he certainly felt lost in this experience, without words or markers to place - and Victor suddenly put the other earbud into Yuuri’s ear, too, for the full experience.  The volume was low enough he could still hear what Victor was saying.  “ _La forza del destino_ , quite a dramatic story.  Very romantic.  They fall in love and die.  But listen, listen!  This is the end.”

“I don’t really know anything about opera, I…”

“Shh.”

Victor stood up onto his knees and cupped his hands over Yuuri’s ears, as if to help him hear better, though all it did was make him blush so horribly he thought he might catch fire.  He did, at least, hear the rise and fall of the singer’s voice, stirring and strong as it reached the peak of the piece.  He tried very hard to pay attention, he _did_ , as he stood there with Victor’s hands against his face.  It didn’t seem to work very well.  Perhaps opera was not for him.  Perhaps he needed less distraction.  Perhaps he was just going to burst into flame and perish.

But then the aria was over and Victor was taking one of the earbuds away again to listen with, as well.  He turned the music down and held up the screen of the iPod - this piece was from _La_ _Gioconda_ , apparently, which meant nothing at all to Yuuri - and showed him the image of a striking woman from the cover of the album.

“Chris gave me her music many years ago,” he explained as the woman continued to sing to them in the background.  “He told me - ‘Victor, you will love Maria Callas.  She is a diva just like you, and you will get along splendidly.’  Chris,” Victor added conspiratorially with a little wink, “is _very_ rude to me, do you know.  I am not a diva.  Certainly not most of the time.”

Yuuri only grinned, not sure how to respond yet when he thought he quite agreed with Chris in the nicest way possible, especially when he knew Victor was already joking.  “Maybe not a _diva_ , exactly - ”

“Oh, Yuuri, not you, too!  My heart has been gravely wounded by you yet again!”  Victor fell back onto the bed in a dramatic huff of misery, the earbuds and iPod clutched to his chest like something precious he was at risk of losing.  Makkachin wagged his tail at the game and nuzzled Victor’s cheek.  “You think so poorly of me! Oh, how - ”  

He sat up again in a rush, the pretend fit completely forgotten and the earphones into his fingers so quickly Yuuri blinked in surprise.  “Here, here, you must know this one!  _Carmen_!”

The little earbud was offered out to him before Yuuri could fully process what was happening, but he took it anyway.  “I really don’t know much opera,” he said warily.  “None except - ”   _Except what I know from you,_ he stopped himself from saying.  He hadn’t yet told Victor about the posters, about the articles and the interviews and the recordings.  “Except what I’ve seen in films.”

“Oh, but _Carmen_ is so famous!” Victor argued with such heart Yuuri gave in with a small smile and put the earbud back into his ear.  “Do you?  Do you recognize it?   _L'amour est un oiseau rebelle_ ,” he began to sing along, voice soft with the words he couldn’t quite hear.  “ _L'amour_!  _L'amour_!”

“Victor, stop!”  The reprimand held little sway of the way he’d intended, though, and Yuuri found himself biting his tongue to keep from laughing.  

Victor only sang louder, grinning now, too, his voice horribly off key as it missed the notes, and ignored Yuuri’s protests of waking his parents and sister as he flung his arms out in a play of acting.  Neither really cared much of the noise anymore, and before long the singing faded into bursts of snorting laughter (mostly on Victor’s part as Yuuri continued to bite his tongue - and his lip and his cheek - in a fruitless attempt to keep his hysterics under control).

“I really can sing, you know,” Victor said around a hiccuping breath as another laugh tried to escape.  He fell back onto the bed again and rolled to his stomach, clutching a pillow.  “I could have been a grand opera singer in, hm, Venice if I had not wished so much to be a figure skater.”  He burst with another chuckle, and this time Yuuri had to bite his fingernails to keep from howling with along it.  “No, no, that is a great lie, I cannot sing at all.  I just find it terribly fun and I have little shame.”

“I think you can sing,” Yuuri said, not fighting the words back.  He blushed furiously as soon as they came from his mouth.  “Although - although maybe not as well as your Maria Callas.  Or anyone else on your playlist.”

He smiled as Victor started to laugh again at the unexpected barb.  “Yuuri!  So cruel!”

“Have you always loved opera?” Yuuri asked, hating how hesitant he sounded even now.

But Victor beamed at him from where he was still flopped on the bed, panting with his fading laughter.  He nodded.  “Yes,” he replied after a moment.  “I saw a performance of _Tosca_ in Moscow when I was very young and was enthralled from that moment forward.”  Yuuri clung to this information, his heart beating in his chest with the calming moment, and he smiled down at his feet again.  Victor’s soft voice through the new stillness almost startled him.  “Have you truly not heard any at all, until now?”

“Oh, no, not really,” he said, looking up again to find Victor studying him closely.  He could feel the blush riding up his cheeks and sighed in frustration with himself, dropping his gaze again.  “I - I liked it, what you shared with me.”

Victor hummed, still watching as Yuuri shuffled his feet slightly.  It was as if he could see right through Yuuri’s insecurity to something Yuuri...had no concept of.  He raised his eyes, baffled.  “It’s decided, then,” Victor said without room for argument.  “We will go see an opera, the two of us together one day.  Yes?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.  One day.”

_This wasn’t real._

By the time Yuuri returned to his room a quarter of an hour later, after Victor had calmed enough to finally sleep - “My Yuuri works better than books or music for sleeplessness,” Victor murmured as he cuddled up into the blankets with Makkachin again, much to Yuuri’s horrified embarrassment - there was a single email waiting for him.  

He didn’t remember Victor sending it, but the file held all the music they had just listened to.  A heart emoji was the only text.

Yuuri pursed his lips into a tight, thin line, full to bursting with the unreality of it all, the brightness.  He downloaded the music and remembered the sound of Victor’s voice, his laugh, his terrible singing as he had so much fun.

So full of life and happiness, so ready to share it.  If only…

Yuuri pulled out his own headphones and found _Carmen_ , listening to it with the same relish and amazement Victor did, alone now without those beautiful eyes so focused on his face.  He didn’t understand the words, and wondered if he’d ever have the courage to ask Victor to translate it for him.  

He knew he wouldn’t.

He stopped the music and turned off the computer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor's heart pounded as the music suffused him, silenced him, gave him life until the ice found him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never mind, I'm back already. A somewhat related one-shot to accompany the first. There could possibly be a third? Naamah, I'm blaming you for this, too. But hey, thanks for sharing the show. 
> 
> Slight warnings for depression.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Makka!” Victor cried, twirling in a wide circle with arms spread.  The poodle leapt beside him, tongue lolling out and eyes sparkling, and Victor laughed wildly.  “Makka, dance with me!”

It was late, the lights of St. Petersburg through the large windows of his living room casting the large open space with flickering golds.  No other lights were lit.  Music filtered from speakers on the bookshelf, loud and soothing.  Opera, at first, and he sang and sang.  Tchaikovsky, then, ballet after ballet as he danced until his arches calves toes burned, and now the first movement of Rachmaninov's second piano concerto.  

Music was Victor’s soul in that moment, his life-force, what was keeping him alive and breathing and moving, and if it stopped he was sure he would stop, too.  Simply cease to exist.  Was that how it worked?  He wasn’t sure just then.

Victor was twenty-five and on top of the world.  A champion, a _legend_.  Beloved by his country, his home, his friends.  Wasn’t he?  The picture painted by everyone around him said he was, and so it must be true.  But here, now, the ice was gone and he was alone.  

Alone, always alone, pulsing, pressing in from all sides until he had nowhere to turn.

“Come on, Makkachin, dance!”

The emptiness ached, seeped into his bones and his heart and his mind on nights like this, nights that were clear and beautiful, and Victor spun himself around again.  The room spun with him, a wash of color and the vague outline of objects he should recognize but took great care not to.  His mask was slipping, he could feel the shards of it falling away, and he hated himself for the clawing in his stomach, the clenching, the tightness in his chest no one ever saw and he knew should not be there.

He was supposed to be _happy_.  Wasn’t he?  _Wasn’t_ he?

Makkachin ran several excited circles around him, his tail moving in a blur, and Victor let himself fall down onto the hard wooden floor.  It felt good against his back, cool and grounding and _there_ , and he felt his heart race and his vision flash. 

The poodle was on him in an instant, planting licks to his face and neck, and Victor gladly opened his arms to his dog, tugging him down into an embrace.  Makkachin went with enthusiasm, lying completely on Victor’s chest without hesitation.  Music swirled around them, the whirling lines of piano and strings and brass washing the room with light that he could almost imagine was actually there.  How he _wished_ it was truly there for him.

It was not.  The light was gone, quite gone.

“Oh, Makka,” he crooned, fluffing the fur around his face with delicate fingers and scratching at his ears.  “My Makkachin, my dearest love, you know me, don’t you.  You will not leave me, not for anything.”  The dog licked at his face again for the sweet attention, and Victor smiled and laughed and squirmed, the motions genuine where they usually were lacking.

Makkachin calmed, resting his head down against Victor’s shoulder, and Victor ran a hand over his curly fur with a sigh that spoke too closely to how he felt.  “Without you, I…”

He did not finish the thought.

Seconds, minutes, an eternity, passed and Victor stayed there on the floor surrounded by music as the night pressed in.  Broken by those golden city lights through high windows, Makkachin’s fluff as Victor hid his face, the swell and fall of piano from tinny speakers.  His life in an instant, if anyone cared to look.

No one did.

Alone, alone, alone.

His heart pounded with it as the music suffused him, silenced him, gave him life until the ice found him again.


End file.
